


The Lightning Went Through

by pendragonness



Series: 00Q mini series [3]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Comfort, Established Relationship, I don't remember what inspired this but sometimes I like it; sometimes I'm not sure it feels right, M/M, Of sorts?, mention of rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 03:59:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pendragonness/pseuds/pendragonness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not exactly what you'll find under the definition of "pillow talk".</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lightning Went Through

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last short story I have written up for now, and the last one I've written in the past month or so. I haven't had the time or inspiration for anything else, so god knows if there ever will be anything, or these may be it. But thank you so very much for taking the time to read - it truly means a lot. Cheers.

“What’s the worst thing that’s happened to you in the field?”

Q had worded this question carefully. He had contemplated it for days- weeks, really. At first, he’d dismissed the possibility of ever asking it; Bond probably wouldn’t answer, would probably just get angry and then shut him out for god-knows-how-long. Then he’d tried to adjust the question, starting with “What’s the worst thing you’ve experienced?” (too vague) to “What’s the worst thing you’ve done?” (too accusatory), and finally to the words he had just spoken.

Timing had been something he had to watch as well - when presenting a dark question to a dangerous and severely unstable secret agent that could kill easier than he could make a meal, one couldn’t just pop it while at work or in the midst of a snog.

They lay beside each other in the double-oh agent’s vast, wonderfully expensive, king-size bed. Q lay on his stomach with his head resting on his hands, which were layered on top of the pillow, and the sheet pulled up just beneath his shoulder blades. He faced to his left, where Bond lay on his back, arms lightly folded across his stomach, the sheets around his knees even though he was just as naked as Q - the agent always seemed to burn a bit hotter than the Quartermaster, quite literally. They had been lying as such for several quiet minutes, their heart rates long-since slowed, and the room left in a content, sleepy haze.

_What’s the worst thing that’s happened to you in the field?_

Q wasn’t sure James would answer after all, no matter how carefully he had chosen his words and timing. The man continued to stare straight up at the ceiling as he had been and nothing changed for nearly a minute. Then a muscle in his jaw jumped, and he rolled to his side - away from Q. The young Quartermaster nearly choked as he struggled to control his panic, worried he’d done too much in that one sentence, gone too far, ruined….something, everything, he didn’t know. His agent was terribly unpredictable at the best of times.

He wasn’t sure he should speak - that might just make things worse - but at the same time, he’d certainly never been good at saying a few words when several would do just as well.

“James-” Hesitation again. Sometimes he called the double-oh by his first name and something would shift inside him, in a pleasant but repeatedly startling way. The young man pressed forward, lifting his head from the pillow of his hands and studying the moody MI6 agent carefully. “James? I’m-..I’m sorry if-…I didn’t mean to upset you, just..it’s just sometimes I get curious.”

He faltered, trying to find the right way to explain himself. Bond didn’t even twitch, the bulky muscles of his back and shoulders providing a rather solid wall away from the Quartermaster. "Or not curious, so much as..." There wasn't a word for it, for his concern and care and desire to know everything about the 007 - but not through reading some report, through the agent telling him, personally, because he trusted him. If there was a word for it, it wasn't one he was about to use. 

“I worry about you, James - I know that's pointless and irritating, but I don't mean I worry about when you're...out there, in the field, but even when...when you’re right here, here with me, James, I worry about what has ever happened to you.”

There was still no response. He had definitely put his foot in it now, stupid bloody child of a Quartermaster he was. He laid his head back down, closing his eyes tightly, his face tensing up in distress.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, and then fell silent.

“It was nearly five years ago.”

Q jumped at the words, which followed only seconds after his own, and his eyes flashed open. Carefully, he lifted his head again and propped himself up on his elbows, gaze fixed intently on his agent. For once, he kept his mouth shut and waited.

“I was working in South Africa. The agent that was with me got killed. A lot of people got killed.” The words were spoken softly, but cold, Bond’s accent turning hard and official, as though he were giving a report to M. “I got caught. Was held for…a week at least, if I remember right. Tortured.” Q barely flinched - he was used to hearing some things at this point. “MI6 found me and broke me out, but the mission was a failure.”

A moment more of silence. Q was afraid to breathe; he could feel the coldness that seemed to have enveloped Bond and he waited patiently, knowing there had to be something more.

“I was raped.”

Q inhaled sharply, but found there wasn’t any air.

“More than once.”

Bond didn’t say anything after that. He still hadn’t moved. Q felt frozen, shocked, even though he likely shouldn’t have been - horrible as it was, that was probably something most agents encountered, why should he be surprised? Couldn’t he have guessed? But no - God, no, he would never have guessed because to believe that this force of a man beside him had been attacked in such a way- Q felt nauseous. Nauseous and frightened and horribly sad in a sense he couldn’t explain.

“James,” The Quartermaster moved closer and broke the distance he had allowed Bond to force between them by grasping gently at the man’s bicep. His eyes burned and his chest felt about to burst. “James-” He tugged, barely rocking the other man’s body. The agent tensed, shifting slightly. Q took a shaking breath, the double-oh’s words sinking further and further into him, like a strange poison that needed a moment to slip through the bloodstream. His imagination was beginning to run rampant, seeing nightmarish acts being committed against his partner. Memories of when he and Bond had first gotten together - specifically memories of how Bond had acted, how tense he had been, how dominant, and how long it had taken the Quartermaster to wear down the agent into accepting their relationship - made much more sense now. Q's stomach rolled. “James-” he whispered, and when his voice cracked, the larger man rolled back over, facing him.

Startling, ridiculously electric-blue eyes gazed at him, both concerned and guarded. He opened his mouth as though to say something, but Q acted first, scrambling forward until he was pressed against his agent’s chest, forehead against warm, bare, skin and his breath ghosting against one of many scars. The wiry young man shoved himself close against the bulkier field agent, his head just beneath Bond’s chin, hands pulled up so they rested between Q’s chest and Bond’s abdomen, where he could delicately touch Bond’s skin.

They stayed quiet for a moment, Bond hesitantly wrapping his arms around Q’s slight frame; Q trying to get himself under control, stop the trembling in his voice that threatened to spread to his body, check the sympathetic tears that teased behind his eyes.

“I’m sorry, James,” he whispered, lips so close they brushed Bond’s collarbone.

Bright blue eyes fluttered closed. His arms tightened a hair’s breadth. “It’s all right, Q.”

He said the words for the younger man, the younger man who trembled against him with an affection he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to grasp, but that he adored and appreciated all the same. Despite the fact that the horror he’d just spoken of had been inflicted upon himself, Bond - and Q - understood it made the most sense for Bond to hold the young Quartermaster, rather than for Q to try and comfort the 007. They knew each other well enough by now. Q knew Bond would try to accept his sympathetic touches and words, but soon would feel weak and pitied. Bond knew that bad things happening to him scared Q more than they scared field agents, and the best solution would be for him to reassure Q that he was there, there for him, and all right.

James Bond shifted, his chin resting comfortably on top of Q’s head, in his thick mop of hair.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you, James,” Q whispered, his eyes open against Bond’s body, seeing nothing but still too shaken to close them. He could hardly fight the horrific visions that threatened him. Was it wrong to feel so much toward one person? Toward a ruddy MI6 field agent, for fuck’s sake? He pressed closer. “I’m sorry I brought it up for you again.” A coarse hand brushed across his shoulders, caressing skin, delicately feeling the ridges of bones.

“It’s okay Q - I’m okay,” Bond murmured softly into the brown swath of hair, nuzzled at Q’s temple, comforting both of them in doing so. He ducked his head and kissed Q softly, catching a glimpse of the worry and sadness in the young man’s melancholy grey-green eyes. His chest twinged; his lips pressed a little firmer before releasing. “I’m glad you know,“ he whispered, and Q felt the honesty in the confession: that, too, struck his heart. “It was a long time ago.” James returned his chin to the top of Q’s head, holding the young man close.

Warm lips kissed softly at his chest once, twice, three times. “Not that long ago, James,” came the whisper, so very soft.

Bond felt the slighter man begin to settle, and stroked gently at the hair at the nape of his neck, hoping to help calm down his Quartermaster.

“No,” he sighed back, “not long at all.”


End file.
